


The Prince's Pleasure Slave

by Esteliel



Category: Rai-Kirah - Carol Berg
Genre: AU, M/M, Sexual Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-26
Updated: 2010-12-26
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:22:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/144803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Esteliel/pseuds/Esteliel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I was no longer the comely youth whom his Derzhi masters had enjoyed to force into their beds. I had long thought myself too old to suffer such debasement again at the hands of a master, yet the Prince's words had made plain what he desired me for. Unless it was all a cruel jest - but ah, it was not a slave's place to question the words of his master. All I could do was listen, and obey, no matter what was asked.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Prince's Pleasure Slave

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kahn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kahn/gifts).



"Completely unnecessary. Nature's already seen to it when they're born a man in Ezzaria."

Aleksander's friends laughed at this often-expressed opinion about gelding Ezzarian slaves. I showed no emotion. I had heard the jests often enough, after all.

"Still, I would not have wanted this one gelded after all. He still looks fine - for his age. I assume he is trained well?"

"Indeed," the slave merchant hurried to explain, "and he can read and write, as well as-"

"What use would I have for a pleasure slave who can read and write?" Aleksander laughed, and a moment later so did his friends. I barely was able to suppress a flinch in surprise - but I could not deceive the Prince. Aleksander leaned forward and gripped my chin, his eyes boring into mine with the intensity of a falcon.

My heart boomed in my chest with the might of a drum when after a fateful second, I realized that I had done the impossible. I had met the Prince's eyes. The harsh, hot pain of the Suzaini merchant's whip was no surprise, but what was a surprise was the blow that felled the slaver to his knees.

"How dare you lay a hand on what is mine?" the Prince roared in the sudden anger he was famous for, ripping the whip from the Suzaini's hand and giving him a taste of its bite. "I will take no damaged slave! For this, you will pay _me_ for taking him off you! Twice the price I would have paid myself!"

The cowering merchant, at least, was smart enough to realize that any denial would mean his death, and so, I became the Prince's possession not for a handful of coins, but for no price at all.

Once the merchant had stumbled away, I was left standing alone before the Prince and his friends, who once more exchanged humorous jests about Ezzarian slaves. I did my best not to tremble, but I felt out of my depth - more than I had in a long time. I was no longer the comely youth whom his Derzhi masters had enjoyed to force into their beds. I had long thought myself too old to suffer such debasement again at the hands of a master, yet the Prince's words had made plain what he desired me for. Unless it was all a cruel jest - but ah, it was not a slave's place to question the words of his master. All I could do was listen, and obey, no matter what was asked.

The prince gripped my chin once more and forced me to look at him. I did not dare to disobey, but where before I had met his eyes with unthinking surprise at his words, now I was afraid and helpless, expecting a blow for my insolence every moment as I studied my new master.

Aleksander smiled, though there was anger in him still, and no kindness as he traced the weal the merchant's whip had left. "At least he did not break the skin," he said. "Though it hardly matters - your back is scarred." There was displeasure in his face. "But I said that I wanted an Ezzarian for my collection, and you are the only one on the market today. You are pretty enough still." He gripped my hair, tugging my face this way and that. "And you have a pretty mouth. You will spend more time on your knees than on your stomach, then - at least that way I won't see the scars."

His friends laughed again with appreciation. I wanted to weep, but that was a luxury a slave could not afford. "Anyway, why those scars, if you are such a well-broken thing as the merchant claimed?" Aleksander frowned. "Or do I need to have you gelded after all?" His hand closed around my testicles, and I could not help but shiver at the threat.

"Please, my lord..." I swallowed. "I am obedient. Those scars... It was the way of my old master's daughter."

"We will soon see how obedient you are. And how well trained. If you displease me, perhaps I will make an experiment out of you - see for myself whether there is any difference between a gelded Ezzarian and one who is not." His hand tightened cruelly around me until I could not help but make a soft sound of pain, then he let me go at last, and I dropped gratefully to my knees, bowing my head before my new master.

I remember little of what happened afterward, the wait for one of the Prince's servants to claim me, the journey to the palace, the wait until the master of the prince's personal slaves inspected me and had me cleaned and prepared.

My hair had grown somewhat while I waited to be sold, and now that the Prince had bought me for his bed, and not for his letters, I was allowed to keep it. In a pleasure slave, hair should be long enough to be gripped and tugged, I knew from painful experience.

Bought for the prince's bed - I still could not believe it. I was no longer young and beautiful. The most I had hoped for was a master like my old one, who made me serve at table and write his letters. The most I had feared was a master like his daughter, who could not engender love or respect by her actions and so resorted to the whip.

To be bathed and groomed and sent to a master's bed once more, to suffer the most terrible debasements they could think of – the thought was too terrifying to endure. So I tried not to think at all while I was poked and prodded and washed and brushed.

Yet at last, when I was sent into the Prince's bathing chamber, I could no longer deny the reality of my situation. Aleksander sat in the hot water, strong and agile as a Shengar, long warrior's braid loosened for once. I knelt beside the bath, as I had been bid, and willed my hands not to tremble as I washed his body. Beneath my touch, his muscles were strong and firm, and when I forced my hands at last to stray between his legs to wash his shaft, it hardened in my hands while Aleksander relaxed in the hot water with a sigh of pleasure.

“What is your name, Ezzarian?” he asked drowsily while he throbbed in my hand, threateningly hot and large. I lowered my head but did not dare to stop stroking him.

“Seyonne, my lord.”

“Seyonne.” His voice was dark with desire, and I tried once more to banish all thoughts from my mind. All that should matter to me was to please my master. And by his reactions, I _did_ please him.

Then, suddenly, he got up and out of the bath, dripping water onto me as he loomed before me, still erect, and I knew what would follow.

I turned around and offered myself to him, on my hands and knees, terror gripping my heart while for the first time in many years, tears came to my eyes. He used me then for the purpose he had bought me for, and my heart thundered in my chest while I was trapped between his hot body and the cool marble tiles of the bath. Heat was inside me as well, and pain. I had not been used so in years, and there was none of the preparation a kinder master might have allowed me. Aleksander was not needlessly cruel in his passion as other men might be, but even so, the shame of it was hardly bearable. I found myself still weeping silently while Aleksander spilled himself inside me with a pleased groan, but despite what I had expected, I was not pushed back and told to clean him up. Instead, Aleksander rested against me for a moment, his body hot and solid against me, one arm to each side of me, keeping me imprisoned against his body. I could feel the warmth of his semen inside of me, but even so he did not pull out. I blinked against the tears. I had forgotten what it was like. I felt small and vulnerable, and in truth I was nothing but a toy he could break and throw away if it ceased to please. His scent surrounded me, and with every heartbeat, the hot throb of my abused body reminded me that he still possessed me, that he could take and use my body however he wanted, whenever he wanted.

Then his arms slid around me, and his hands closed around my own shaft. He chuckled against my ear, and I trembled all of a sudden from the intimacy of the situation. There was no part of me that did not belong to him, and I truly knew it then. My old master's daughter had whipped me because she could not force me to love her. Yet she was nothing, compared to the Prince. What could Aleksander do, if he set his heart to it? I felt myself growing hard in his grasp and closed my eyes in weary defeat.

“No gelding after all, Ezzarian?” he breathed into my ear. “Shall we see if I can make you come, with my cock still inside you?”

I made a soft sound that could have been a sob, and at his soft laughter, I knew that it had been futile to try and hide my tears from him. Of course he had known that I wept. Twenty years as a slave, and already Aleksander had undone every lesson I had taught myself after my first year in slavery.

He was skilled at this – or perhaps it was only that the last time anyone had sought to give me pleasure had been so many years ago that I could not remember it anymore. After a while, he grew hard alongside me as well, and now his thrusts gave me not only pain, but also an insidious pleasure that made me tremble and spread my legs just the tiniest bit, searching out more of it although I knew that it was not a slave's place to seek out pleasure from himself.

Yet it did not seem to displease the Prince, who continued to stroke me alongside his thrusts, and at last, when I could not hold back anymore and came with a confused sob, I could feel him spill himself inside me once more.

This time, after a moment, he released me and stood. I no longer knew what to think. My body hurt and my face was wet with tears, yet this encounter had not gone as I had expected it to. I turned to my back and looked up at him, not knowing what else to do. I was utterly defeated, and he knew it. There was no rebellion in meeting his eyes either – how could there be, when he saw my thighs and stomach flecked with his seed and mine as he looked down at me?

His lips curved into a reluctant smile after a while. “You're not so bad at this, Ezzarian,” he said. “Of course you are not. I am never wrong.”

“Never?” I asked softly, still too shocked by what had happened to talk to him the way a slave should talk to his master.

“Never,” he repeated. “Now get yourself cleaned up. Then go to Fendular, my chamberlain, and tell him that I want you in my bed tonight. And-” he hesitated for a moment, then gave me another rare smile that made my heart contract helplessly in my chest.

“Tell him that you pleased me today, Ezzarian.”

**Author's Note:**

>  _"Completely unnecessary. Nature's already seen to it when they're born a man in Ezzaria."_ Carol Berg, _Transformation_ , p.2


End file.
